


The House at The End of DuBarry Street

by DLManoir



Series: Short Stories [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Cock & Ball Torture, Dark erotica, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Eye Trauma, Forced Orgasm, Ghost Sex, Gross, Haunted Houses, Infection, Invisible sex, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Monster March, Monster-fucking, Multiple Orgasms, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rectal Prolapse, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Shadow Cock, Somnophilia, Staph Infection, Teratophilia, monster fucking, rosebudding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DLManoir/pseuds/DLManoir
Summary: Francis "Feri" Hicks, a medium, is called by the city council to investigate the late Earl Lancolm's manoir at the end of DuBarry Street.Built over 130 years ago, it's deemed a cultural heritage and plans are made to renovate the estate and turn it into a museum. However, these plans are actively thwarted by the evil entity who roamed about the lot, scaring away all who try to approach. It's looking for something, someone in particular, and it seems to have found whatever that might be in the medium who ventured inside the house.Entranced by the illusion of beauty, Feri fights against any restorative attempts and winds up purchasing the haunted house which seeks to take his life. Alas, he might already be too far gone to resist the pull as he sinks deeper into his delirious fantasy.
Relationships: Medium/Evil Entity, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Undisclosed
Series: Short Stories [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174919
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift from me to me, so you can be certain that it's going to get nasty.
> 
> For this story, I had to look up images of infections and diseases, what mould tastes like, and I got to use the words "puss" and "pustulant". I'm absolutely not sorry about it. Did I write this with the sole intention of writing something disgusting? Yes. Yes, I did. Does this story arouse me _sexually_? Not particularly, but if it arouses you sexually, then that's fucking great! If this story makes you gag, that's also great; means I did my job as an author!
> 
> Read the tags and proceed with caution. This is your last warning. If this story upsets you, it's all on you.

At the end of DuBarry Street sat the late Earl Lancolm’s mansion. It was dilapidated for its being abandoned since the early 1880s, and yet it stood, over one-hundred-thirty years later, with its boarded windows and dreary atmosphere.

Overgrown shrubbery and grasses surrounded the estate and hid the mossy, decrepit face of the stone foundation.

It was a sad sight, but the city council had deemed it a cultural heritage and refused to have the lot bulldozed. Restoration plans were made, but all who came within the limits of the lot fled after a quick glance. They called a medium to determine the reasons behind the workers’ unhabitual discomfort. The city council hadn’t expected to hear the medium state: the residence wasn’t to be renovated, but preserved as it was, for the interior was sublime. To the normal eye, however, the inside of the house was anything but sublime.

It was dark and gloomy and dusty. It reeked of mould and mildew and time had worn every inch of the interior, furniture and carpets and linens included. Glass from the shattered windows littered the floors. The wallpaper was exceedingly worn and peeling in places. The upholstery was so affected by time; it blew to dust with gentle touches.

The medium insisted they should preserve the estate as it was.

“Don’t you all see how gorgeous the place is!” he told the council members. When the inspectors regarded him with odd and disbelieving eyes, he further claimed to see elegance and glory. “Look! For god’s sake, just look at the wallpaper!”

Evidently, the medium observed something that no one else saw. This should’ve been the first sign, but the medium ignored the oddity of his visions.

And so, the house remained as it was, untouched and frighteningly morose at the end of DuBarry Street. Renovation plans were abandoned, and the city council sold the lot to the medium, who fell in love with this putrid husk. And he continued to withhold the idea that it was a splendid house and needed no repair.

He died, the medium, two weeks after purchasing the mansion, but it wasn’t until several months thereafter that his body was found. After several months of silence, it was the medium’s mother who came looking for her. Naturally so.

The body they found was so twisted and misshapen, an autopsy was impossible to conduct. The cause of death was determined to be of natural causes.

As terrible as the medium’s fate had been, the estate was changed thereafter. The ambience was no longer oppressive or discomforting, but rightfully eerie. They again made plans to restore the manor.

The ancient manor sitting at the end of DuBarry Street was renovated and turned into a museum.

No one will ever know the truth behind the medium’s, Francis “Feri” Hicks, untimely death.


	2. Chapter 1

Francis “Feri” Hicks hardly recognized the room about him as it actually was. It was charming and elegant, with beautiful candelabras lighting the room, and gorgeous sconces of the finest sculpture, lighting the room. The wooden furniture was polished and strong, mostly oak, with intricate designs decorating the surfaces and shiny brass knobs. The upholstery was mainly velvet, the colours of which were rich and vibrant shades of reds, burgundies, and purples. The rooms were warm to him, the wallpaper a beautiful forest green with wooden wall trimmings, and the acacia hardwood floors were smooth and dark. A delightful aroma of cooking meat and wine circulated through the mansion.

The only time Feri peered through the illusion was when he closed his eyes. Without his sense of sight to misguide him, the other senses of smell and hearing were enhanced considerably, and it came to him a rotten and vile scent, along with the crackling of tired, rickety floorboards. The bed he slept on was stiff, musky, and moist, and the pillow under his head wafted such a nauseating smell that it almost made him sick.

The manor was killing him, but he couldn’t know of the festering blisters which created disgusting and pustulant holes in his flesh, for he saw merely the mirage of what had formerly been whenever he opened his eyes.

After only three days and three nights, Feri feared sleep, and he avoided it until he lost consciousness. He lived solely in this fantasy world he perceived and abandoned himself to his hallucinations. He was happy like this. Delighted to live like this.

There was one occurrence that never ceased to unsettle him. It came while he was asleep, but he felt it distinctly. The surrounding mattress dipped, sinking as yet a heavy creature had climbed over him. Pressure surrounded his right bicep, squeezing his arm tight until it was nearly painful, and turned him over onto his stomach. His gut churned when his mouth, lips slightly ajar, was blocked by the mouldy pillow, and a shot of bile rose in his throat. The taste of the old fabric on his tongue was acrid, rotten, and his innards squeezed tight to vomit the contents of his stomach.

Feri wanted nothing more than to wake up, but he remained steadfastly asleep. And the being, if one could call it that, remained upon him, yanking the quilt from him and working his pyjamas over the mound of his ass, down his thighs, and off of his feet.

Cold air brushed against the naked flesh of his hams, and when his cheeks were spread, the breeze tickled the thin spread of hairs concealing his puckered hole.

Had he not lit a fire in the hearth? He could have sworn he had.

It touched him in ways he had never experienced, and he disliked it. The rounded tip pressing against his hole was icy, and his sphincter clenched in rebellion against the insertion. This did little to halt the being in his unwelcomed entry, however, as it snapped forth, tearing through the tightened ring of muscles and sinking so deep inside of his body that his breath hitched.

It hurt, like the fire should have blazed in the fireplace. It stretched his virgin passage beyond imagination, and he felt with excess every movement of the invasion. He felt it like a white-hot rod searing the inner walls of his ass when it filled him up. And he felt no respite when it pulled out.

It seemed to go on for an eternity, slamming in and out of his body, using him as though he were a worthless rag to be carelessly tossed around.

Even lost in sleep, Feri understood precisely what was happening to him, and he understood what this pain meant, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t open his eyes and immerse himself once more in his peaceful fantasy world or open his mouth to utter a single sound that differed from a ragged or choked groan. He couldn’t move his body or flee the increasing savagery of the thrusts jostling his body and the bed. The bed frame screamed under him, and the headboard banged against the wall, but this didn’t wake him for his dreams.

When it ceased, he was vaguely aware of a lone tear trickling from his right eyes, down to the corner of his nose, at which point the musty pillow absorbed it. He hoped this would be the end of such a nightmarish ordeal, but he was wrong.

Whatever penetrated and filled him with so much brutality, now left him. Cool air licked his innards as his hole gaped around the new emptiness and a shudder ran through him. One moment, his mouth was pressed to the dampness of his drool, mixing with the moldiness of the encased pillow, and the next, he was flipped onto his back. His waist was lifted by the back of his knees and legs, which hung in the air above him.

Feri’s eyelids twitched as he tried hopelessly to rouse himself from his sleep, but at the feel of the cold tip kissing his already-swollen asshole, he sank deeper into this strange spell.

This time, his sphincter didn’t resist the intrusion. His body was soft and pliant, readily giving way to the long object that slipped inside of him. It was easier this time, but it still hurt more. The burning intensified as the length and girth of the thing filling him increased significantly. The stretch was too extreme for his unaccustomed body, and a pitiful whine emerged from his spit-shined lips.

The bed creaked as the being violating him drew back, only to slide in farther, all the way to the hilt until all breath syphoned from his lungs.  _ In and out. In and out. In and out. _ And so on it continued, rough, quick, with a particular carelessness which alone he suffered.

Throughout the night, unrelenting and unforgiving, it took him in this manner, raped and defiled as he slept on, powerless to defend himself. At last, the sun rose and with it was the aggressing spirit lifted.

His body flopped limp onto the bed and he sat up straight, a scream in his throat and his eyes at once alert to the visit of intruders. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline rushing in his veins, while his ears rang a high-pitched noise. The window was open, sunlight beaming in, enlightening every nook and cranny.

Already, he forgot what troubled him so, and the pain he previously felt was nothing to him now. He was in his room, and whatever it was his dreams made him suffer was but a figment of his imagination. Just as the view from his window or the polish of the granite fireplace where smouldering ashes glowed red and hot, or the delicate embroidery on his quilt. It was all an illusion. Every window of the manor was boarded shut, keeping out the light. The stone from which the fireplace was carved out was cracked and falling to pieces, and his beautiful quilt was in reality a sheet of rotten shambles fraying around the edges.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, but the movement sent a strange shot of electricity up his spine. It was sharp, although he felt no pain. He was bleeding profusely, but so immersed was he in this illusion of his that he felt none of it. It intrigued him.

In his room stood a large mirror propped up against the wall. Feri inspected it with much delight as the golden border of the object was polished and the reflective surface was crisp and clear. Had he not been so delusional, he might have noticed the blasted surface and the scattered glass he stepped on with his bare feet. As it was, the cuts he sustained were but a mere inconvenience, like the prickle of a small rock lodged in one’s shoe. He ignored it.

Finding nothing of interest in his inspection, except that he was naked from the waist down when he knew he had gone to bed in his pyjamas, he moved to the chair in the corner. The seat was utterly worn, and it stood precariously on three legs, the fourth being broken. What he saw was a gorgeous piece and antiquity, upon which was draped his sumptuous velvet robe.

He donned the old cloth chewed on by insects and mice, and all sorts of critters which might find its fibres to be proper nesting material, and made to tie it about his waist.

Feri sauntered out of his bedroom with a visible limp he paid attention to and made his way to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and spat into the sink, peed, combed his hair back, and ventured down the steep stairs and into the kitchen.

It was a miracle he didn’t somehow trip and break his neck as the steps were uneven, as much in width as in height, while some were completely missing or split in half.

Once in the kitchen, he prepared his morning tea and sat at the table. Whatever it was he saw wasn’t at all what it should’ve been. His cup was shattered, and the porcelain was horribly stained. The bottom of the cup was black where a drink had last been poured before time had caused the evaporation of its fluidity, followed by the congealment of said black mass left behind. There was no water within his cup, no liquid at all as the manor had no running water, but Feri sipped from the cup’s lip with contentment, regardless.

He looked at the wooden boards blocking the window and smiled. What he beheld was a field of daisies, flowers prone for picking as they waited under the brilliant summer sun. It wasn’t so. Such a field did not exist. Not in this day and age. This window should open to the road, not a field of pretty flowers. But the estate blinded him; he saw only what he was allowed to see.

A clock ticked softly, the grandfather clock by the front door, and it drew Feri’s attention. He had to go to work soon, which meant he needed to get ready. He did just that, but he never made it out of the manor.

After getting dressed, he climbed down the stairs, still missing by a hair’s breadth the broken step, and went to the front door. He grasped the doorknob and froze.

His mind went blank, and he stood unblinking, unmoving, as though time had stopped. For Feri, it had stopped, although it continued for the rest of the world. Finally, movement returned to his body, but his features kept this vague oblivion. He saw nothing, felt nothing. His breathing was slow, steady, and his heartbeat slowed as though he were in peaceful rest, but he continued to stare into the void. The house wouldn’t let him leave, and he couldn’t fight against its influence.

He turned around, his feet sliding on the floor, and he waited. Waited for time to pass him by. One hour passed. Then two. And three. At last, the grandfather clock struck twelve, but he waited still.

Feri appeared an empty shell, not quite alive for how unmoving he stood, and yet so lifelike, one could simply dismiss him as one of those eerily realistic mannequins. He was one of the most beautiful works of art in the intricacy of his details. If only he could see himself, he would see just how handsome a man he was like this, frozen stiff in time.

At last, the grandfather clock struck six, and with the  _ Dong! Dong! Dong! _ echoing through the manor—a song it hadn’t sung in over a century—life returned all at once, and Feri’s rigid muscles relaxed. He almost collapsed with the suddenness of his revival, but quickly caught himself.

He dropped his head into his palms and groaned as a strange sensation, like the start of a bad migraine, an inconvenient pressure not yet painful, seeped into him. His lower back ached, thighs quivered, and his throat felt parched. He was hungry and thirsty and tired. His clothes felt three sizes too small for him, although he could have sworn they fit him just fine earlier this... morning. Or was it yesterday morning? If he continued to analyze this, he’d surely give himself a headache.

A mirror hung above the console table. He reached out with both hands to lean against the wooden table. He misjudged the distance, his hands falling short of the furniture’s edge, and tripped before catching himself on the wall—where Feri saw he had merely missed the table. One unaffected by the estate’s influence would have seen that it had collapsed.

“I… This was a long day,” Feri muttered to himself. He looked at the grime covering the mirror hanging from the wall and studied himself, his reflection clear in the illusion.

Did he... look different?

He swore he had combed his hair back before leaving for work, but now it was... different. Loosely pulled back into a low ponytail, tied by a blue ribbon, with the ends reaching past his shoulders. Feri always kept his hair short, and he couldn’t remember ever having it dyed a chestnut brown.

He blinked hard a few times, straightening himself up while he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He was tired and he could feel the headache of hunger blooming within his skull.

When he inspected the mirror again, the man he saw was gone, and his reflection stared back at him solemnly. Combed blond hair, green eyes, plump cheeks, thin lips. He knew  _ this _ reflection well, knew it as himself. He looked strange, unfamiliar now that he had studied the thinner features of the other man he saw in the mirror.

“I work too hard,” he decided after a moment.

Perhaps he did—although he hadn’t today. So he decided he would indulge in a bath tonight. Afterwards, he would take a book from the library and read until bedtime. Whoever had owned this manor was quite an avid reader; he could tell by the sheer number of books tightly packed along an entire wall, from floor to ceiling. Only, his bath would be waterless and the soreness of his muscles would only be increased for the awkward position, and the book he was to read would contain only faded pages of crumpling paper—if it hadn’t been chewed by critters or creepy crawlies.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him, and he rubbed the tiredness in his eyes while sitting in the only chair capable of withstanding his weight. His vision was growing blurry, which certainly meant he ought to climb up to his room and get to sleep.

He did just that, plopping onto his mattress and relaxing a moment before he blew out the candles at his bedside.

He laid awake for a long time. The sky outside was dark, the moon hidden away so it couldn’t shine down upon him and brighten the night. He didn’t mind it and his eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light, although the blurriness never cleared out. He tried to identify the furniture with a quick glance, but it was too hard and he gave up.

Finally, he closed his eyes, rolled on his side, and let sleep take him away.

All that night, he slept fitfully, never quite able to awaken when he felt the mattress dipped around him and the long phallus penetrated his body. He experienced the same discomfort from the night prior, the searing sting inside and nausea caused by lack of food and the mildew of his pillow.

When morning came, his body yanked straight up in his bed, a wretched scream the likes which had never left his mouth filling the empty room. And then he forgot all about his nightmares.

The pressure in his ass from the previous morning turned to pulsing warmth. His body registered it as intense pain, but his brain, malleable and pliant to the estate’s illusions, felt none of it. Therefore, the spasms and pains felt like nothing but a strange, elusive sensation Feri couldn’t quite name. When he inspected himself in the mirror, again naked from the waist down, he saw nothing of the crimson trail rushing down his legs.

Or of the growing stain of blood in his sheets.

Or of the deepening, swelling cuts in the soles of his feet.

In fact, it stood to say that Feri saw little of it, for his vision was sufficiently blurred, his eyes red and puffy and growing increasingly crusty. He carried himself to the rickety chair in the corner where his tattered robe was and wrapped it around himself.

He brushed his teeth again, combed his hair back, took his imaginary tea with an imaginary newspaper, and then climbed back up the stairs to get ready for work.

The moment he touched the doorknob, his world collapsed. All life vanished from him, leaving him an empty shell who obediently turned away from the door. He stood still and unblinking, seeing nothing and everything at once, for hours on end. The grandfather clock struck twelve, but it wasn’t until it struck six that Feri was released from the spell.

Another fit of vertigo afflicted him, and that same headache from hunger and dehydration settled in. The hurt in his back intensified, and he resolved himself to another waterless bath to relax his sore muscles. He ate—nothing—and sat himself down to continue the book he couldn’t read.

He went to bed earlier that night as he perceived the itching of his eyes, a clear sign of his fatigue.

As he climbed the stairs, he stepped on a rotten board and his foot went through. Before he fell, his eyes went lacklustre and his mind went blank. It was as though Feri had been cast into the secluded shadows of his mind while his body wrenched itself out. The mansion did this to keep him from seeing through the illusion and it worked like a charm because when he blinked and looked down at his bleeding ankle—a large gash filled with splinters showed—he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The step was whole, the wood polished and strong, and the weird pulsing he felt in his ankle, well…

“Maybe I should call out of work tomorrow,” he said dismissively. The answer that left his lips was, “Yes… I’ll do that. I need to rest.” It was the manor speaking for him.

He climbed the rest of the way up and prepared himself for bed. He donned his pyjamas and stoked the fire in the hearth. After blowing the candles out and settling into bed, he stared at the ceiling, unseeing beyond the fog of his sight, which he had become completely accustomed to now. Shapes played in his vision, pulsing colours and figures which he couldn’t directly catch in his line of sight—whatever danced in the corner of his eyes kept jumping away when he tried to look at it.

Feri breathed deeply, trying to relax, and closed his eyes. The real manor appeared to him then, as it was, malodorous and only detected by his nose. His stomach gave a lurch, and he gagged, throwing his upper body over the bed, but nothing came up as he heaved and convulsed.

He hadn’t eaten a thing in days…

Once his eyes snapped open, however, the sickness subsided quickly, and he immediately remembered of the antic beauty of his newly purchased home. His soon-to-be last resting place. He fell onto his back again, rubbing at his sore and gurgling stomach, and took several deep breaths to ease his racing heart. A few minutes passed, and he felt well enough to relax into the beaten and mouldy mattress.

Then, a strange urge possessed him and without thinking, without noticing, his right hand slipped underneath the quilt and into his breeches.

His eyelids fluttered as his fingers closed upon his length, but he didn’t otherwise react to his own touch. He stroked himself with slow and languid movements of his hand, while his cock hardened. It was easy, quick to bring himself to a full erection considering he had experienced no sexual gratification in over a month now. His hand gradually grew bolder, his grip tightening, pulling his foreskin back to reveal the dark head before covering it again. Like this. Back and forth. Up and down. Over and over until, to his surprise, frissons of pleasure rippled through his spine, pulling a wet moan from him.

He dug his wounded heels into the bed, pushing his waist up to fuck his fist, and a sharp pain shot up his calves, making him cry out in delight for reasons he ignored. His loins coiled tight, and still tighter, as warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach, swirling until he was ready to explode.

His orgasm was right there, but something held him back, kept him from Nirvana.

_ “Uuuuuuuuhhhh… Uuuuhhhhuuuuuuuuhh… Uuuuuhhh…” _

He moaned continuously, his body arching, his hips snapping fiercely against his fisted hand, and yet he stared straight ahead without an ounce of pleasure expressed in his features. His gaze didn’t falter now, nor when his left hand travelled down the length of his body. He didn’t even flinch or cringe when he grasped the base of his cock with his thumb and index, his balls with his other three fingers, and squeezed himself as hard as he could—his right hand never stuttered as he submitted himself to this torture.

He panted as he jerked, his right hand becoming a blur as he quickened his pace to keep himself from softening. His thighs trembled, as did his stomach and his lips. He swallowed thickly, choked, and finally let out a gut-wrenching holler when he came.

Just as the first shot erupted, he closed his palm over the head of his cock and squeezed with all his strength. His body’s convulsions were futile as he stopped the natural flow of his cum. Every wave of white-hot pleasure searing into his brain with the company of sharp pain. His eyes rolled, and he kicked his head back, his entire body bowing off the bed. His mouth opened around soundless screams.

He prolonged the last excruciating wave of his orgasm by releasing the head of his cock and pumping the length with chafing and rapid movements, forcing burning eruptions of cum out of himself.

Three more times he did this until he could cum no longer and his consciousness abandoned him. At once, the manor took its fill of him as it had the previous nights, raping and ravaging his lifeless body while he fought a losing battle against his dreams.

The next morning was the same as the last. Every day was more of the same. Nights blurred into each other as he gradually slipped further under the house’s hold, and his condition worsened. By the end of the week, he was weak, delirious, and ill, but he’d also looked forward to his nocturnal visits with the being whose touch now felt akin to a lover’s caress. The more time he spent in bed, the more he seemed to fuse with its blight, and the deeper he fell into the beautiful illusion the manor offered him. At last, he forgot all about his life outside the estate, his relatives and friends, and he gave himself mind, body, and soul to the occupant of the manor at the end of DuBarry Street with a stupid grin and a moan.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only are things getting worse from here on out, I decided to add an epilogue, which gets even worse than this chapter does. If you've made it past the prologue, you're willingly putting yourself through this horror story. Don't put the blame on me for your sensitivity in the face of the content _**you are forcing yourself**_ to read.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter; I know I enjoyed writing it.

A week went by where Francis “Feri” Hicks, the ensorceled medium who bought the late Earl Lancolm’s manor at the end of DuBarry Street, found himself completely immersed within the estate’s illusion.

He rose from his bed several times during this week, albeit with quite a bit of effort. as a voice had begun calling out to him.

“Feriiiiii… Fffferiiiiii…”

It was a man’s voice. Not quite old, quite not young. Despite its insistent call, however, Feri heard also a hint of lugubriousness lacing its tone, and it struck him with such an intense heartache. He strove to find the man calling out to him, to find this entity who so desperately attempted to make contact with him, that the house trapped within its walls.

Something told him to go to the basement, although he had no way of knowing of the existence of a basement. He knew instinctively when he had found the door which would lead him down to it. When he tried the knob, it refused to give.

The door to the basement was locked.

Upon purchasing the property, he’d received an antique keyring containing all of the keys to the house. He tried them all here but to no avail. The door remained shut.

“Ffffffferi… Fffferiiiiiii…”

He rattled the doorknob, shook it and twisted it this way and that. At last, he abandoned his endeavours to open it. If it was locked, Feri thought, it was locked with a key he didn’t possess, which left him with no other choice than to break the knob. Ah! As if he would consider such a thing! He turned away, somewhat dejected, and made up his mind to forget about it for the time being.

As the days went on, the voice became like a desperate plea, calling him day and night, rousing him from his sleep and reaching for him within his very dreams. He further attempted to open the door to the basement, but as it had been before, it was locked. He would need to call a locksmith, he noted.

The next day, however, Feri remained bedridden. His eyes burned and he couldn’t feel his feet, let alone stand on his own. Despite the severity of his afflictions, he noticed them as no more than mild fatigue.  _ I only need to rest for today, and then I should be fine. _ But he wouldn’t be fine, he was already too far gone to ever recover from his unfortunate situation. And so, he called his work again to warn them he would stay home today, although the battery of his cell phone was dead by then—he never noticed.

Here he laid on his bed, wholly dedicated to sleep a while longer, or until the voice roused him, and suddenly, as he closed his eyes, it became too cold. He couldn’t sleep because his windows were wide open—as they perpetually seemed to be—and while the sunbeam warmed his face, it couldn’t win over the frigid nipping of the ambient temperature.

He sat up, the spark he felt rushing up his tailbone and spine now greatly dulled, and stood on his blistered feet only to collapse. The cry which emanated from his lips was both that of pain and surprise. His ankle was twisted, swollen, and the cuts were an angry red as the infection spread upwards like wildfire.

Feri didn’t understand this. He didn’t remember falling through the floorboards and felt no pain! He saw nothing of the matter with his feet. Not the puss or the swelts or the deep gashes affecting his walk.

_ What is wrong with me? _

He had to crawl to the fireplace to light the fire and warm himself. The ashes, which he tried to light, didn’t take to the delicate flame of the match. Feri would have known better could he see beyond the illusionary logs. Should he have truly paid attention and examined his situation with a clear mind and eyes not half-closed and crusted, he would have noticed the lack of any firewood within the manor from the very start.

He held his hands out, as though to warm himself by the fire he saw but didn’t feel, and then crawled to the window to close its shutters. There. Now he should be able to get warm and find some sleep. Determined to do just that, he stood, and immediately found himself on his knees once more.

“God damn it!” he growled, slapping the coarse wooden flooring with an open hand. “I’ve been so clumsy lately! I swear, I’m a breath away from cutting my own damn legs off!”

Indignant and stubborn, he struggled to his feet, forcing his wobbly legs to stagger all the way to his bed. He climbed onto the mattress just as his mind wavered. Black dots crowded his sight, although it was already blurred and darkened by disease, and his flesh buzzed from scalp to toe. He lost all strength in his arms and happily let himself flop face-first onto his pillows. His sigh came out a groan, half of delight and half of discomfort, and he finally flipped onto his back, clutching one of his pillows to his chest.

“I…” Feri licked his cracking lips. “I don’t feel… good… I’m a little hungry. I think…”

But food wasn’t entirely on his mind. It was death. Looming over him, enticing him, seducing him. And he was weak to its influence, not only by sickness but also because of this special gift he had, his ability to perceive things not otherwise of the mortal world.

He pressed the pillow to his nose and mouth, breathing in deep, and reached down the length of his stretched and naked body. Lean and skinny, all sinewy and bones. His breath hitched as his fingers ghosted across his stiffening shaft, but he didn’t dare touch his cock any more than he was permitted—the estate had established these limitations and he respected them.

He couldn’t jerk his cock, but he could squeeze and crush and pull his ballsack, and claw the flesh on the inside of his thighs with his nails, and smother himself until he was light-headed. He wasn’t allowed to feel good, but he could hurt, and the manor told him he loved to hurt. And so he did!

He loved the sharp sting of his filthy nails when he dug them into wounds not-yet healed.

He loved the searing burns in his lungs when he tried to breathe against the mildewy fabric.

He loved the pulsing white-hot ache blooming from his balls when he crushed them.

He loved the suffering the estate induced upon him. It made his knees wobble, leaving him feeling hollow inside while a knotted ball of fire sank into him before spreading out wildly to infect his soul.

There was no such concept as control to him anymore. His body wasn’t his own and these sensations were gifts, precious holes which he alone could peek through and observe his own metaphysical soul as it took on a defined shape, and bask in how warmly it glowed. He could almost...touch it. Almost. Just a little bit further. A little bit...further.

_ “Mmmmfff! Mngggh! Hmmmmpf! Mmmm!” _ He bit into the pillow, letting the fabric soak up his cries as his hips bucked hard. Hot ropes of pearly white semen shot out of his cock, painting his chest until he was completely spent. His eyes fluttered, frissons of pain-pleasure rippled through him like waves colliding against the sharp, stony ridges of a cliff, and his muscles convulsed of their own volition. Whatever control he had retained over his body, he had willingly given away with this last orgasm.

Out of the corners of the room, the ceilings, the fireplace, the floors, everywhere darkness touched, shadows gathered in a single, concentrated point, and Feri watched the indistinct shape take form. It was cloaked in swirling smoke, with no eyes for it to see with, but its scrutiny was still felt regardless.

A being of shadows, never human and devoid of humanity.

It was a tall and lanky creature with no discernible shapes. For the lack of apparent eyes, it didn’t lack teeth. It hissed and the sibilant noise filled the room, taking Feri captive, trapping him within the fleshy shell of his body, and keeping him from passing out. It moved like an amoeba, without any grace or shape, as it climbed onto the bed, onto him.

At once, he recognized the familiar dip in the mattress around him and remembered each night where this being had visited him in his dreams. In his bed…

Yes, it was this creature who had slipped inside his body over and over again, night after night, to corrupt him and violate him. Feri understood then his mistake, but it was too late for as he willed a scream of sheer terror from his burning lungs, the pillow over his mouth was pressed down with so much force, breathing wasn’t difficult, it was impossible! And this was the work of his own body betraying him, reacting as the demon wanted his limbs to react.

With one hand, he smothered himself, and with the other, he crushed his balls and pulled in an attempt to tear them from his body. This pain he felt to its fullest and it was not pleasant as the estate had told him. It wrenched hot tears from his puss-filled eyes and took his voice away.

He passed out, but this blissful void of feeling only lasted a fraction of a second before the demon’s rattling hiss revived him and the pain was lit anew.

It was all too much, all at once, the truth came to him, rushing plain as daylight despite his blindness. He felt it all. The dull throbbing of his feet, of his whole lower body. Somehow he knew, instinct told him his feet were lost to a diseased curse. There was a hole in his stomach, a deep pit of emptiness as though he hadn’t eaten anything in days. He understood then the extent of his famished condition.

The pain was incredible, both sufficient to knock him out swiftly and revive him almost just as soon.

How had this happened? How had he not felt this entity before? No, that wasn’t right. He had felt it the very moment he had stepped upon the lot, long before he had even dared walk through the threshold of the manor’s front door. It had attracted him then, possessed him and tricked him.

_ Crafty devil! _ But it was already too late for him. Too late to save himself. And even if he tried, he had no control over his body.

“Fffffeeeerrrriiiiii…” the demon hissed, the sound of its voice like the high-pitched scratching of nails on a blackboard. It made Feri’s teeth vibrate and his eyes roll. His stomach turned and a hot shot of acid rose to the back of his throat.

The demon knew his name, but its voice was distinctly different from the one he had heard throughout the week. Did it have more souls imprisoned within the manor?

The shadows of the demon slowly claimed his legs, swallowing his flesh up to his knees, and then lifted until his back rose off the bed and he was bent in half. He was bared like this, open and vulnerable—he was vulnerable regardless of the position the shadow being forced him into—with his asscheeks coming apart to reveal his swollen rosebud. His toes curled and unfurled, feet flexing, and his hips made awkward little movements, thrusting backwards onto cold air until a shadow emerged from within the mass of the demon’s body. It wasn’t shaped like a penis, or anything even remotely similar—appearing more a thick wisp of smoke writhing uncontrollably. Even so, Feri wasn’t mistaken when he assumed the tendril of smoke to be the demon’s shadow cock for how familiar it felt against his abused and inverted asshole.

He tried to speak, to beg for his freedom, but the pillow covering his mouth muffled all of his attempts. It tasted rancid on his tongue, like wet dirt, earthy and musty, and it made his stomach contract, hurling shot after shot of burning acid up his throat. Tears smarted in his eyes as he slowly asphyxiated and sputtered before finally trickling from his half-shut eyes when the shadow cock slid inside of him.

The pain was muted by the one welling from his crushed balls, which he still clutched tight in one unforgiving hand. The demon’s intrusion felt like a breeze of ice-cold air blowing into his passage. It was also soothing to his inside-out flesh. It seeped deep inside of his bowels where it began to swell. As the shadow cock thickened and stretched his ass, it pumped in and out— _ in and out, in and out, in and out _ —with hardly any care to let Feri grow accustomed to the growing thing moving inside of him.

Yes. He remembered this sensation quite vividly now. Every night leading up to this one where he was fucked and his ass was torn, where he was made to enjoy the burning stretch and sting of the injuries he suffered while impaled on this creature’s cock.

Despite his mortification, despite the pain, his body remembered the estate’s teachings and he quivered, his nerves sang with delight as his flaccid cock, gone soft with fright, slowly hardened.

But this wasn’t him!

He wasn’t supposed to get hard or enjoy this in any way! Why couldn’t he control his own body!? It was this damn unearthly creature! That demon who pounded into him, toppling over him with a hissing rattle and filled him until his belly bulged with every savage thrust. It was the demon’s fault, the demon who controlled him, messed with his mind, convinced him into confusing pain for pleasure.

Yes, that’s what it wasn’t! What he felt didn’t feel good. It hurt a lot. He was hot in the face with a fever that made him delirious, and his lungs burned. He felt utterly weak, on the very verge of death even, and yet the warm swirl blooming in the pit of his stomach gave him a sense of elation. He hated it.

Feri’s belly swelled beyond the imagination, and after a time, he noticed the slow disintegration of the creature plowing him. He rejoiced momentarily at the prospect of being free, only to realize it wasn’t disappearing but infecting him. The shadows permeated him, filtering into his bloodstream and diffusing throughout his entire body. It took possession of his muscles, of his heart and his brain, possessing him in every sense of the word. Little by little, his sentience was pushed aside where the demon’s pervaded over him.

The pain disappeared, and though his thoughts tumbled furiously over one another, he was relieved of his apprehension. Feri knew he had lost this battle—from the start, he never stood a chance—but he also knew his physical suffering ended there.

He fell flat on his back, his limbs going limp so the pillow no longer obstructed his breathing.

It was dark where the demon imprisoned him. He could barely see the world before him, which was not surprising in the slightest since he hadn’t been able to see for a few days now. What little he saw was distant, as though he were watching from above or from someone else’s eyes.

He was alone in this dark prison, the silence about him stifling the breath in his lungs, and yet he was surrounded by the echoes of his thoughts.

_ This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? _

Over and over again, these thoughts bounced off the unseen walls of his mind. They pricked his skin, making his flesh break out of ripples of addictive goosebumps and sending frightful shudders skittering down his spine.

His body, now no more than a meat shell he shared with this evil creature, sat up roughly, almost clumsily. It was obvious the demon had little experience with human bodies and the way their limbs moved about, their limitations. His legs launched themselves over the edge of the bed and, with a momentous boost that would surely hurl his body to the ground, he stood up on his two feet. Feri didn’t feel the pain as part of himself but rather cringed as though he were witnessing it another’s suffering. His body moved as if floating across the room and out into the hallway. Down the staircase. Towards the kitchen. He came to the door leading to the basement, but it wasn’t closed as it had once been. Beyond this point, darkness engulfed everything.

“Ffffferiiiii…” It was that voice again, calling him! Airy and rusted and scratchy. “Fffeeeerrrrriiiii… Ffeeeeerrrriiiiiii… Ffffffferiiiiiii…”

Feri took the first step down the stairs. Another step, and another, until he disappeared into the dark of the basement. Behind him, the door eased shut. The demon led his footing until he reached the bottom and turned. The room he was in was dark, dank, and empty, but a light radiated from the outer edges of a door across the way from him.

“Fffffeeeeerrrrriiiiii…” The voice was growing crisper. He was getting close.

In a few steps, he was at the door, which creaked open on its own as he approached it. Within was revealed the core of the house’s influence, the corpses of animals, rotting limbs, and various ex bags hanging from babiche ropes. At the center was the light source, a summoning circle with mysterious and bloody inscriptions and candles leaking their melted wax onto the coarse dirt floor, and a hunched figure sitting in the middle with their back turned. The demon made him stop there.

The seated creature jerked, the cloak covering it bulging with bony shapes popping and swelling to match the cracking and snapping sounds emanating with each movement. It stood, slow to rise, and turned to face Feri. The cape hid most of its face, but its hands were horribly deformed, with fingers bent out of shape and knuckles blown out. The skin was wrinkled and grey in the low candlelight. The nails were chapped, long and curved like claws, and the fingertips were black with death. It looked hardly human. It took a rattling breath, straining to draw in air, and hissing as it exhaled in a slow, languid huff.

The air around them seemed to grow rancid with each breath that left the creature’s mouth, and Feri’s lungs suddenly couldn’t seem to fill properly.

At last, the long silence was broken when the cloaked creature spoke in its wretched voice. “Ffffferiiii…” It sprang upon him with a piercing shriek. From the moment it leapt forward, its feet didn’t touch the ground once until it toppled Feri over.

With their proximity, the creature’s visage was visible, but it was a hideous, ghostly thing—a skeleton covered by a thin layer of flesh with sunken eyes that saw nothing, and rotten teeth. Nevertheless, its features were distinctly those of the young man Feri had perceived in the entrance’s mirror. Long, ratty locks of snow-white hair fell from the hood, cascading onto his feverish chest. The cool touch of feather-light hair quelled the fire under his skin. Feri arched his back and reached for the wasted man with his whole body. Needing his suffering to ease. Needing deliverance from this spell.  _ Earl Lancolm. _ It was the Earl Lancolm himself who would release him, take him and carry him off.

He didn’t want to be taken, but he also didn’t want to suffer anymore.

As the cloak of the man straddling him parted to reveal a lanky body of sinew and cadaverous flesh, rotting and peeling and festering, with boils and welts and pockets of pestilent puss, a frigid shiver bit into Feri’s skin. He squirmed uneasily—the demon possessing him allowing this small freedom—yet made no attempts to free himself. The man, if this creature could ever be called that anymore, spat black spittle, reeking of congealed blood and liquified innards, at him, but he didn’t otherwise shield himself.

Bony hands lifted his legs, sharp nails digging into his skin, and the man settled between Feri’s parted thighs, its member stiff and ready. It was long, thick and girthy, though not so much as the shadow being’s cock had been, wrinkled and veiny and sickly by discoloration. It lined up with his entrance and slipped in with no resistance.

A long moan escaped from Feri’s lips, but it wasn’t his own. In spite of that, he felt as though it should be his own. The man’s cock stiffened even more inside of him, growing hot and hotter still, until the heat became so intense, Feri’s voice came out a salacious hiss.

No sooner was the man fully sheathed in the deepest reaches of Feri’s body, their bodies began moving as one. He keened and whimpered, writhing under the lightweight of the man, and bucked his hips to meet each thrust. He came quickly the first time, the orgasm sweeping through him like a tsunami and leaving him a panting and trembling mess. The man didn’t stop and heavy breathing turned again to luscious moans as Feri’s own cock stiffened slowly.

Already, the changes in his body showed; the whispers in his mind were growing softer and his soul was being pulled from his body, but he was oblivious to this as a second orgasm soon followed the first. He cried out until his voice turned to a quaking wail. And then his sobs soften, quieted, as though he were lamenting for something.

His death.

He knew it was coming. It was all instinct, now. Something in the way the creature on top of him grew more and more energetic, while he became listless. What had once been hollow became filled and glowed with youth. What was ash grey became a dark caramel with a slight rosy undertone. Dull, black eyes recovered their lustre, and with the added shine of wetness, they turned hazel, deep and dark, but so vibrant.

While this man grew in beauty, rejuvenating with every second they fucked, while Feri became old. Almost as old as the mansion he had bought, it seemed.

Feri’s breathing was already raspy when, suddenly, the man looming over him lurched for his throat with a vicious growl and even more savagely clamping teeth. Biting into his trachea, Feri choked, as much on his own blood as because of the pressure of the jaws.

The man drank his blood, gulping with greedy swallows while his lifeforce left him.

The voices in his head grew distant.  _ This demon is going to kill me! I should’ve never bought this house! I should’ve never answered the call! Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? This demon is going to kill me. I should’ve never bought this house. I should’ve never answered the call. Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place? _

It was quick, nearly painless despite the growing brutality of the thrusts, and Feri was almost thankful for the diminishing of his life.

_ This demon is going to kill me. I should’ve never bought this house. I should’ve never answered the call. Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place…? This demon is going to kill me… I should’ve never bought this house… I should’ve never answered the call… Why did I ever have to host a seance in the first place…? _

_ This demon… it’s… it’s… _

Every smack of flesh against flesh brought with it the lessening of vitality as youth transferred from one body to the other. Slapping sounds drowned out the increasingly silent huffs and puffs of exertion and pleasure. Pressure wound around Feri, choking and coiling around him, tighter with every pump of the man’s hips until, at last, a final orgasm ripped out of him. This time, however, he was listless with it; his lips only parted slightly and his eyelids fluttered half-shut. Only his cock twitched as he spent himself on his chest.

His muscles quivered as Feri gasped for one final breath, and then the last wave of pleasure saw him relaxing completely, his body going limp, his breath expiring from his lungs, and his heart finally ceased beating. Feri’s body shrivelled under the man who did not stop the brutal assault. Every ounce of fluid, of life, of blood, was sucked dry.

Earl Lancolm would live again, thanks to Feri, to finish the prosperous work he had begun in his last life.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, leave a kudos and a little comment. It truly does make me happy to read all of them, and I think we need all the good feels for 2021. :D
> 
> If you would like to know more about the upcoming works, feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DLManoir). I also have a discord server where you can chat with me: [join here](https://discord.gg/8WqB2VD54c). If you're looking for a place full of welcoming, horny people, with ample pictures of pets and food, then this server's the best place to be.


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